Stairwells
by peacelovebethx
Summary: Troy Bolton was in love. The love of his life, Gabriella, was suddenly gone. He was crushed. 6 months later, he met someone new. He began to heal again. But what happens when Gabriella returns to his life once again, needing his help?
1. Chapter 1

**Love and Loss**

I was

in love.

I had

everything.

I was

abandoned.

I had

nothing.

I was

broken.

I found

someone new.

I was

whole again.

I was

in love.

I had

everything.

You

came back.

I am

confused.

-- Troy Bolton, Stairwells

This story will be made in dedication to anyone who has loved and been hurt, or anyone who has hurt and loved again. So, anyone, really. PLBx


	2. Chapter 2: Stairwells and Cigarettes

_**Troy.**_

I met her in a stairwell.

We had just moved to Albuquerque from Ohio. It was a hot, humid day in August. My mother had just decided that the entire inside of our new house had to be repainted and redecorated because, well it was "just dreadful" as she put it.

So, we were forced to relocate to the nearest Comfort Inn. Which would have been great. Free cable, snacks, a pool, my own room; any 16-year-old boy's dream, except that my mother kept bothering me with questions about school registration and paint colors.

In complete desperation, I had gone into the stairwell and leaned against the wall of the second floor landing. I took out my half- empty pack of Camel cigarettes and placed one between my lips. Taking out my Zippo lighter from my back pocket, I lit the cigarette in a familiar motion. I sucked in deeply and instantly relaxed.

_God, I needed this._ I thought as I blew smoke out of my mouth and settled into the routine that I could do in my sleep. I stood alone in the stairwell for a few perfect minutes.

All of a sudden, the door to he staircase flew open and a girl storms in and plops down on the steps across form where I'm standing. Shocked by this rude interruption of my peace and quiet, I don't notice at first that she's crying, her head buried in her arms. For lack of a better response to having a crying girl sit across from you, I continued to take long drags from my cigarette. After finishing my cigarette, I drop it and ground it beneath my Chuck Taylor. Then, I fish my pack out of my back pocket once again and begin to pull out another cigarette.

"Can I have one?" asks a female voice. I look up startled and realize that the request has come from the girl. She's no longer crying and has lifted her face out of her arms.

Even with blotchy cheeks and tears still on her face, I can't help but stare. She has long, brunette curls and big brown eyes. She's wearing a summery blue top and short, white shorts. My eyes linger a moment on her exposed, tan legs and travel back to her face. She's unmistakable hot. I look back down at my pack and pull out two cigarettes, place one between my lips and hand one to her. She takes it, and I light mine. I look at her; she's got the cigarette between her fingers and is staring at me. It takes me a moment to realize that she expects me to light it for her. I push off the wall and walk the few paces between us. I lean over, and she holds up the cigarette for me to light. I flick the lighter and light it. She looks at me and brings the cigarette to her lips.

"I'm Troy." I say, with a smile I try to make look confident.

"Gabriella." She returns with an unimpressed look. I walk back to my spot on the wall, acting unaffected by her cold attitude. That's where I stay for the rest of the day; smoking my entire pack and staring at her.

_That was the beginning; a stairwell and a half- empty pack of cigarettes. _


	3. Chapter 3: A Summer of First's

I remained a guest at the comfort inn's version of a penthouse all through August and well into the first month of school.

During that time, I retained a lot of information about Gabriella Montez.

Somehow or another, we ended up meeting everyday in that same stairwell. After that first day, it was simply understood that whenever we needed a smoke break, the other would be there. Gabriella hardly ever had a pack of her own, but, to be honest, I didn't mind sharing with her. In the beginning, that's all we did: smoke in the comfortable silence of strangers united under the desire for freedom from our very separate lives. And, if it would have been left to the angsty seventeen year old me, all we would have been was an escape from the other's life. But, as it turned out, Gabriella was not a girl to sit back and wait, so, several days into my Comfort Inn stay, she changed things forever.

"Where are you from?" she asks between smokes.

I look up, frankly surprised to hear her address me, "Excuse me?"

"Well you aren't usually living here if you are staying at a chain hotel, and you aren't a regular, either, I would know. So, where are you from?"

"Ohio, Columbus actually. I just moved, but my mom is still getting our house 'decorated'." I answer, casually, making air quotes around the word decorated.

She nodded, with a wry almost dark smile, in an understanding way but somehow we both knew that she knew nothing about such things.

In every way the life I led was charmed, hers was screwed from the beginning.

Her dad was in prison for attempted murder and armed robbery.

Her mom lived in a shitty mobile home, drinking too much and caring too little.

For her part, Gabriella basically lived in the motel with a boyfriend eight years old her senior, who got a discounted room rate because he worked at the front desk. He was employed, which, she said, was a step up from any man her mother ever dated. We never discussed the bruises he inflicted on her small face. When she wasn't getting hit, she was sleeping with the businessmen that stayed here, trying to make enough money to leave Albuquerque. But, we didn't talk about that either, not till later.

Besides that, we actually had a lot in common. We hated our parents, loved rock music, and dreamed of being musicians.

Stairwells became an important part of our relationship. It was the place I first kissed her, it was the place I first held her when she cried, the place I first fell in love, and, believe it or not, the place I proposed, the first time that is.

But, I keep getting ahead of myself. I guess that's what happens when you're looking back at it all.

So, I'll start from the first time I kissed her.

**_In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966_**


End file.
